So This Is Life
by libbiliboo
Summary: SEQUEL TO "In Sickness And In Health" TJeffs. JMads. Tom. Jemmy. Call them what you will. Happily married for 8 whole weeks, they think they have their life planned. But when a surprise springs itself rather rudely on them, they get way more than they bargained for... Life is always hectic in the Jefferson-Madison household. Warnings for mpreg, strong language and icky (not smut)
1. Chapter 1 (04-29 10:36:22)

**PLEASE READ _In Sickness And In Health_ BEFORE READING THIS OR NONE OF IT WILL MAKE SENSE! Crazy-ass full-caps over, please enjoy this guys, and let me know what you think. Warnings: mpreg, strong language, icky stuff (but no smut. Never smut.).**

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 _Jefferson's p.o.v_

So, we got married.

It was a small affair, just us, a few friends, and our families. Okay, so it ended up being a lot of people because I have 9 siblings, 5 of which are married and 3 of which have kids, 4 in all. Stanley, Rufus, Rupert and Craig. I don't know what Randolph was thinking when he named his kid _Craig._ Rupert is Martha's pride and joy at 5 years old, which leaves 4-year-old Rufus and 8-year-old Stanely to Lucy, my only older sibling. She's 30 now. Martha's 25, Randolph 24, then there's my younger siblings... God, I really am ranting, aren't I? The point is, you disrespect any of them, I kick your face in. Understand?

Anyway, back to the wedding. There was aunts and uncles and cousins... it ended up being around 60, maybe 70 people in all. It was really rather nice, though. James wore a beautiful black-and-white tux, with a singular red rose in the pocket. Me?

One word: purple.

I still look at the ring every day. It's a simple gold ring, nothing too fancy, but it has James' initials engraved on the inside. We kept our last names. It was too confusing to be Mr and Mr Jefferson, Mr and Mr Madison, Mr and Mr Jefferson-Madison-- well, you get the idea.

We had our honeymoon in Paris, the city of love, at my insistence that it was _the best place on earth... well, any place with you in is the best place in the world_ , I had said. James had blushed and said we could go to Paris. Laf hooked us up with a 5-star hotel, one of the best in the city. Honeymoon suite. Let's just say things got a little heated in the bedroom...

Well, it all started about 6 weeks after we got back. I woke up one morning to a churning stomach and a painful cramping in my abdomen. Wincing, I sat up, shaking James gently. He blinked blearily up at me, grinning as soon as he saw me.

"Hey, babe," he whispered, sitting up as well. Suddenly, he looked concerned. "You okay? You don't usually wake me."

"No, I feel a bit rough, actually," I replied, placing a hand on my stomach. "I think-"

Bile rose in my throat, and I snapped my mouth shut, just managing to swallow it down.

"Are you gonna be sick?" he asked sympathetically, tilting his head to the side a little. I nodded, resting the back of my hand on my mouth. "Come on, let's go to the bathroom. It'll be okay."

Helping me up, James slung my arm over his shoulder and we slowly made our way down the corridor. About halfway there, I began to gag, and I broke away from James, hopping down the corridor on my good leg. I barely made it to the toilet before I started to throw up. James was right behind me, holding back my bushy hair, rubbing circles into my back. The problem is, I was so out of it when I finished vomiting, James had to literally hold me up by the scruff of my neck to stop me from falling into the toilet.

"I think you've got the bug that's been going round," James said gently, pulling me into his lap. I leant my head on his shoulder.

"I bet Hamilton gave it to me," I grumbled.

"You should stay home today."

"Noooooo!" I groaned, trying to get up. James pulled me back down. "I've got a really important meeting with the President and a cabinet meeting and a huge-ass pile of paperwork. I have to go in!"

"You can't go in throwing up left, right and centre," he said, rubbing circles into my cheek with the pad of his thumb. "I'll bring you some paperwork and you can do it if you're feeling up to it."

I nodded my assent, and I limped back to the bedroom, flopping on the bed. True, my stomach was still cramping, but I wasn't feeling sick anymore: I was actually hungry. James came in a few minutes later carrying a bucket. He passed it to me.

"I don't feel sick anymore," I complained, putting the bucket at the side of the bed. "I'm starving."

"You _just_ threw up," he replied skeptically, sitting on the edge of the bed: the mattress sagged a little under his weight. "Are you sure you should be eating?"

I gave him my puppy-dog eyes, and he quickly relented, looking up from where he was typing on his phone.

"Plain toast, and that's it," he warned, trudging to the kitchen. I heard the toaster pop down, and James was back in a flash, typing on his phone. I leant over his shoulder and glimpsed Washington's name. "I'm just telling him you're not coming in today," he told me, kissing my cheek.

The toaster pinged.

I nearly beat him to getting up, but he placed his hands on my shoulders, keeping me down as he placed a finger to his lips and backed out. He returned quickly with a plate of toast, handing it to me. I began to eat ravenously, causing James to physically take the food away from me. I made an indignant noise. He gave me a look as I swallowed with difficulty.

"Slow down," he said. "You'll make yourself sick again."

I grumbled a little, wiping the crumbs off of my chin. Sighing, he glanced towards the alarm clock and its glowing red numbers. I followed suite: they read 6:47 a.m.

"Sorry for waking you," I mumbled, lying back in the bed. James' face softened and he gave me quick hug, passing me the toast.

"Don't worry about it, you were ill," he said dismissively. "Now _slow down._ "

And he left to clean his teeth.

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"I'm going to work," James told me in a hushed voice. He was sat on the bed again. It was 8 now, and along with the cramps, I now had a banging headache. The curtains were drawn, and the room was shrouded in darkness. Even so, I'd placed a pillow over my face for extra protection. "I'll come back as soon as I can to check on you. Call me if you need anything, yeah?"

I nodded and murmured something, I'm not quite sure what it was. James rested his hand on my arm for a moment before exhaling heavily and leaving. I heard the front door click shut.

His touch lingered on my skin.

Then I fell asleep.

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 _Madison's p.o.v_

Walking to work, I was jittery and worried. Thomas is never ill. He just isn't. Obviously, he gets the occasional cold and he has his leg, but he isn't properly ill like that. Approaching the government building, I strolled in with as much confidence as I could muster.

"You're early," Hamilton called from his desk. Of course he was here. I swear he comes in at like 6 in the morning. Then he paused, as if mulling something over. I stared at him as I sat down and mine and Thomas' shared desk. It felt empty without him. "Where's Thomas?"

"He's ill," I replied, smiling grimly. "Stomach bug, I think."

Alexander sucked in air through his clenched teeth, his face wearing an expression of sympathy. It seemed sincere.

"It's horrible, that bug," he remarked. "I couldn't get out of bed for 3 days straight. Be careful, Madison. We don't need you ill as well. You're Jefferson's self-control."

I laughed, turning my computer. A blank screen stared back at me. Leaning over the back to make sure it was plugged in properly (which it was), I thrashed the mouse around a few times in frustration.

"Oh, come on," I muttered, giving the monitor a good hard shake.

I called IT, and waited for my first break so I could see Thomas.

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It was 11 o'clock before I managed to get back home again.

I opened the door silently, thinking he would still be asleep. I was surprised to hear _The Jungle Book_ playing in the other room, and Tommy singing along in a high, sweet voice. He sings well: he should do it more often.

"Tom?" I called, creeping into the bedroom. He grinned at me, bouncing over to me and tackling me in a hug.

"Heyyyyy, Jemmy!" he squealed. I was scared. Was he delirious? I thought he had a fever, but a quick feel of his forehead revealed it to be a perfectly normal temperature.

"You seem better," I remarked, reaching for the remote and turning the volume down considerably on the TV. King Louis continued to sing in a much quieter voice.

"I am better!" he replied, pulling me into a dance. "I feel fine, my headache's gone, my stomach isn't hurting anymore... I think I can come in this afternoon."

Skeptical, I made an uncommitted noise.

"You might just be..." I began, but his sunny disposition soon wore me down. "Okay, you can come in, but you are _not_ to over-exert yourself, do you understand?"

He nodded feverntly, hugging me and running to change out of his pyjamas.

I chuckled and shook my head.

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 _Jefferson's p.o.v_

I was virtually floating as we walked into the governent centre. I sat excitedly at mine and Mads' desk, my feet propped up on the wood. At that moment, Washington walked through. He spotted me and came swiftly over.

"Jefferson, you feeling better already?" he asked, shaking my hand. "Madison said you wouldn't be in."

"I feel fine, sir," I replied. He didn't seem satisfied as he walked off.

I settled down, turned on my computer and got to work.

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 **There we are, chapter 1 done! Hope you enjoyed, and you all know what's coming... *wink wink***


	2. Chapter 2

**Ah'm back. Hope you enjoy this chapte** **r!**

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 _2 weeks later- Madison's p.o.v_ To be honest, the last 2 weeks had pretty much proceeded in the same fashion that the first day had gone. Thomas would wake up super early, about 6ish every morning, throw up and then crash either in bed or on the couch. The first few times, he woke me up, but then he just started tying his hair up before he went to sleep and keeping his cane by the bed. I'd kiss him goodbye at any time between 8 and half 9, then come back at about half 11 to find him animated, full of life and completely healthy again! It wasn't normal, not one little bit.

I'd scheduled an appointment with Dr Franklin, one of the doctors I'd had after the accident. He's good. I trust him. The appointment was for 1 in the afternoon the next day.

"Tommy, baby?" I said tentatively as we sat in bed watching Netflix the night before. He was lying on my lap, and I was stroking his hair.

"Yeah?" he replied, not taking his eyes off the screen. He seemed riveted by _Ace Ventura: Pet Detective_.

"You know you've been having those stomach troubles?"

He nodded. "I got you an appointment for it tomorrow."

I flinched, waiting for the fiercely independent disgust, for the _why did you do that_ for the eventual grudging acceptance. None of it came.

"I was gonna ask if we could arrange one," he simply said.

"So you're okay with it?"

He finally looked up at me.

"I'm getting fed up of vomiting every morning," he said, turning back to the movie.

I shrugged and shifted my attention to the blaring screen.

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The next morning, he woke me when he threw up.

It was just a sharp tap on the shoulder, perhaps unintentional, but it was enough to wake me. I sleep lightly. I opened my eyes just in time to see a flash of bouncy hair disappear around the corner. Jumping up, I followed him to the bathroom to inevitably see my husband with his head stuck down the toilet. Apparently his hair tie had broken, as all his hair was in his face, and I had to hold it back for him.

"This cannot be healthy," I muttered as he leant back into me, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his pyjama top.

"I concur," he replied weakly, reaching up and flushing the toilet before hauling himself up with the help of the sink and washing his mouth out with liberal amounts of Listerine. "What time is it?" he asked quietly, gripping the sides of the sink so hard his knuckles were turning white.

"Umm... 7, actually," I answered as I got up myself, mildly surprised at how late it was as I checked my watch.

"I'm gonna try to get some more sleep," he said, and we trailed back to the bedroom after spraying some air freshener. "I'm shattered."

"Same," I replied, yawning. "But I got the day off for your appointment."

"What time is it?"

"The appointment, you mean?"

"Yeah."

I let out a sigh of relief.

"1."

He seemed satisfied as we snuggled together and eventually nodded off.

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I was woken again at 11 by a hyper Thomas Jefferson.

Thomas Jefferson has 5 modes. Mode 1: the Slump. The Slump constitutes of him lying around, doing nothing, not even talking. Numerous calories are normally consumed during a Slump.

Mode 2: the Work-The-Ass-Off. So much work can be done on one of these days. I once saw him do 8 essays, 7 evaluations, read 2 books and do a ridiculously detailed drawing of a potato, all in the space of 14 hours. It was nothing short of impressive.

Mode 3: the Normal. Just average, y'know, mooch around, watch TV, insult Hamilton. Whatever.

Mode 4: the Anger. This occurs when we have an argument, or something doesn't go quite right. Maybe Hamilton's insults went too far, or, God forbid, extended to me. He goes all red in the face, says all sorts of horrible stuff. Thankfully, this is rare.

That leaves only one mode: Hyper. Hyper is arguably the worst mode by far. In short, he basically reverts back to his 3-year-old self. Well, more than usual, anyway. And that's how he was when he woke me up.

He was sat cross-legged on the bed next to me, bouncing up and down as he poked me incessantly, a huge grin plastered over his face. Blinking up at him, I groaned and threw an arm over my eyes, blocking out the harsh sunlight.

"Jemmmmmmy!!!" he squealed, his Southern lilt thick.

"What time is it?" I mumbled, removing my arm and gazing up at him.

"11."

"We're leaving in half an hour, be ready," I said, hauling myself out of bed and into the kitchen. Thomas trailed me like a hawk trails its prey, or how Hamilton trails Washington.

"Thought the appointment was at 1?" he asked, trying to casually lean on the counter. His arm missed and he went falling sideways, just managing to catch himself. I snorted into my juice.

"We're going for lunch first," I explained, sipping at my juice. "Subway sound good?"

He nodded happily, unconsciously licking his lips, revealing flashes of his pearly white teeth _. God,_ I thought. _How am I married to this man?_

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"Hearty Italian, Meatball Marinara, plain cheese, and toasted, please. Oh, and better make that a footlong."

Thomas rattled off his order as if it were nothing more than the alphabet. I looked lovingly up at him, mesmerised by a grace too powerful to name as I ordered my usual turkey and ham.

"Your body baffles me," I said to him as we shuffled further up the line.

"My body baffles most people, darlin'," he deadpanned, winking. I rolled my eyes, but I have to admit that it was pretty good.

"You know what I mean," I replied forcefully. The server asked Thomas for salad. As he ordered, the server began checking me out, his eyes raking me up and down. He nodded approvingly, and smirked at me. Uncomfortable, I put my arms on the counter, resting my chin on my arms and making sure the wedding ring was _very_ visible. He soon backed off, and we sat with our food in one of the side booths.

"Sugar, you've got sauce... everywhere," I told him, giggling as I gently wiped a napkin over his cheek. There was sauce all over his face, up his arms and coating the table, but he was smiling, so it was okay.

"Yeah, but it was delicious!" he yelled.

"Volume _down_ , Thomas."

He stuck his tongue out at me, and I kissed him in retaliation. He tasted of Marinara sauce.

Checking my watch, I swore when I saw that it was quarter to 1.

"We gotta go!" I said quickly, grabbing my drink and pulling Thomas out and towards the hospital that might finally give us some answers to this shit.

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"James, it's good to see you again!" Dr Franklin exclaimed, pulling me into a hug as we entered his office. I hugged him back, smiling. "How have you been, how have you been?"

"Good, thanks," I replied shyly. "But Thomas hasn't been too good. It's a bit weird, actually."

"I wake up early every morning, throw up, get an awful headache, but then I'm fine a few hours later!" Thomas cut in, folding his arms and slouching in his chair. Franklin raised an eyebrow.

"Can you just lie on the bed for me?" he said, motioning to the bed. It was high. Really high. Me and Thomas glanced at each other, and his face fell. "I've got to pop out, I'll be back in 5 minutes or so," Franklin said, winking and walking out.

 _Jefferson's p.o.v_

James helped me up onto the tall bed, with the use of an encylopaedia, a swivel chair and a rickety bucket. By the time I was lying down and we were both panting, Franklin walked back in. Behind him, he wheeled something I recognised as an ultrasound machine. It was a screen, and a wand-like thing. They put jelly on the area they want to scan. It's cold, that jelly. I've had it on my leg before.

"I just want to ultrasound your belly to see what's going on," he explained. "The symptoms don't sound like a typical bug, but it's probably nothing."

Pulling up my t-shirt, I shivered as he applied the freezing jelly to my stomach. James held my hand so tight I thought it was going to break. He was more nervous than I was. I was remarkably chill with the whole situation, to be honest.

He took the wand, switching the machine on and running it over my stomach. The image was grainy, and I couldn't tell what any of it meant. Furrowing his brow, Franklin glanced at the screen and muttered under his breath, moving the wand around more viciously. Me and James looked at each other uneasily. Tension was growing in the pit of my stomach.

After 10 minutes of this muttering routine, Franklin finally sat back, putting the wand back in its holder. He seemed dumbfounded. He didn't wipe the gel off.

"So?" James said impatiently, tapping his foot. I shushed him soothingly, but looked pointedly at Franklin.

"I-I don't know quite how this has happened, but it's pretty extraordinary," he stammered, looking up at me. "Thomas, you're pregnant."

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 **Mwahahahahaha!!!! You must wait with this!!!! Next chapter should be up soon!! Hope you enjoyed, my lovelies. Hugs and kisses!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Heyyyyyy, dudes. Response to reviews, and enjoy this chapter!**

 ** _Abidabi101 chapter 2 . 18h ago: Love this so far! Gotta admit, this is the first mpreg fic I've ever read cuz I usually stay away from them but i love your works so i thought I'd give it a tryCan't wait for more~_** **Glad to see you're enjoying, especially if it's your first time reading this type of fic! Hope it's a gentle introduction!**

 ** _Little Strawberry fruit chapter 2 . 16h ago: ... Beautiful... absolutely beautiful_** **Thank yoooooooooooooooou! Is it bad that I read this in a really sarcastic voice XD**

 ** _Itshappyprincess chapter 2 . 6h ago: Okay, so this is really good, but I am so confused, like HOW did this happen?!_ Ahhh, all will be revealed in this chapter! PLEASE NOTE THAT THE WHOLE EXPLANATION IS NOT REAL, I DON'T THINK IT'S BIOLOGICALLY AND NATURALLY POSSIBLE, IT'S JUST CREATIVE INVENTION BECAUSE I WANTED TO WRITE THIS.**

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 _Jefferson's p.o.v_

I stared, gobsmacked, at him, my mouth hanging open. Pregnant? It was biologically impossible! I couldn't be-

"Pregnant!?" I spluttered, unconsciously resting a protective hand on my stomach. The gel was slippery and icy cold on my skin. "In the nicest way possible, I think you're wrong!"

James hadn't said anything yet, and I turned to him in desperation. He was looking, enraptured, at the ultrasound image.

"There's a genetic condition," Franklin explained, leaning forward and gently wiping the gel off of my stomach. "A carrier. In simple terms, it means a male can have a womb and naturally give birth. It's been theorised, but actually before seen in real life..."

He was printing off the images now. I shook my head, not quite believing him.

"I-I remember reading about it," James whispered before turning to me, eyes dancing. "That's a baby, Tom. Our baby."

Eyes filling with tears, I let my gaze drop down to my belly. There was a baby in there, a real baby...

"Oh shit," I murmured quietly. James looked at me, confused.

"That's a good _oh shit_ , right?" he asked skeptically. I nodded.

"Congratulations, boys," Franklin said, his smile wide. I looked up at him, still in shock a little.

"So all this sickness...?" James asked, trailing off.

"Morning sickness," Franklin replied. He handed James the grainy black-and-white images of our child. Our _child_. We could barely look after ourselves, how would we look after a kid!? What if it was a girl? We'd have to learn to play princesses, do hair... oh God. What if it was a boy? I'd never be able to run round, play baseball or football with him, my leg would prevent that. What-

My thoughts were cut off as Franklin started talking again.

"Now, you need to be really careful," he warned, now giving James a mountain of leaflets. "From our theories, male pregnancies can be very dangerous, as it puts a lot of strain on the body that, obviously, the male body is _not_ equipped for. You'll go on bed rest at 29 weeks, and you have to start taking pre-natal vitamins now. The birth will be a c-section."

He made us another appointment in 4 weeks time. Then I'd be at 12 weeks, apparently, and we'd be able to get a proper picture. He waved us off, wishing us the best of luck.

Walking down the road, I carefully avoided James' eye as horrible, horrible thoughts swirled around my mind. Did I even want kids? What would it do to my body? Would it be the death of me, leaving James with a son or daughter who is missing a father? Abortion? No, never. James was desperate for kids, and I could tell this as I watched his feet. They were bouncing up and down. He was skipping, then. We reached the car, and as I pulled out, James looked at me excitedly.

"We're gonna have a kid," he said, his voice full of awe.

"I know," I answered agitatedly.

"What's wrong?" he challenged. "Are you not happy?"

"I suppose so, yeah."

"You _suppose so_!?" his tone was thunderous. I focused on the road. No indicator then? Idiot. "That's our kid, Tommy. Our _biological_ child that has defied all possibilities in being alive!"

"Yeah, _our_ kid who could very well kill me!" I snapped, parking the car in our street and getting out, slamming the door angrily. James followed quickly, trying to grab my arm. I shrugged him off.

"You're not going to die," he said, his voice much more subdued. The anger seemed to have disappeared.

"You don't know that."

"I do know that."

"You can't know. You can't time-travel. And even if you _could_ time-travel, you couldn't-"

"Go forward in time because it doesn't exist yet, I know, you've told me a million times," he cut me off tiredly, sitting me down and placing a hand on my stomach. I jerked away. "Do you not want to have this kid or something? Because you need to-"

"I'm scared!"

He seemed taken aback by my yelled statement. He stared at me for a few seconds before engulfing me in a hug. I clutched him tightly, burying my face in his shoulder and let the tears fall. "I'm so scared," I sobbed, trembling as James whispered gently in my ear.

"It'll be fine," he said. "And you know why? Because we'll have a beautiful baby at the end of it."

I sat back, trying to smile. Happiness suddenly blossomed through me, and I looked down at my stomach. James leant forward, hands outstretched: he glanced at me for confirmation, and I gave him the go-ahead. He lightly lay his hands on my belly.

"We got a kid."

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 _1 week later_

"Oh please, Mr President!" I pleaded, clutching my hands together. Washington looked on at me, unimpressed. I'd really come to terms with the pregnancy now, and was doing everything in my power to protect my child. Pre-natal vitamins (which taste awful), these things called pelvic floor exercises (well, as much as I can do with my leg), avoiding certain foods, not drinking too much coffee, not drinking alcohol, everything. We, James and I, were planning on announcing at 14 weeks. Note the word _planning_.

"I'm sorry, Thomas, I can't let you off again!" Washington exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air. "You have to do this TV interview."

"Why-"

"It's mandatory!"

"But-"

"No excuses!"

"Too much stress is bad for the baby!" I blurted before slapping my hand over my mouth, my eyes widening in shock. Had I really just said that out loud? I could hear my heart hammering in my ears, and tried to slow it down, thinking of my unborn child. Washington narrowed his eyes and raised one bushy eyebrow.

"What baby?" he said carefully. I looked around in desperation before sticking my head out of my office door, calling down the hallway:

"Mads! We got a problem!"

I've never seen a human move so fast. If Usain Bolt were there, he would have been proud. James came barrelling down the corridor, slipping and sliding on the linoleum. He was panting by the time he got to me.

"W-wh-what's the matter?" he wheezed, clutching at a stitch in his side with one hand and the door frame with the other. I quickly relayed everything that had happened in whisper form. Breath back, James gave me a look.

"Just couldn't keep your mouth shut," he muttered, grabbing my arm and dragging me into the President's office.

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 **Hope you enjoyed!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Heyyyyy. Okay, so, um... enjoy this chapter. Oh yeah, so I had a moment in RE today when we were looking at scripture, and we looked at the bit from _One Last Time_. I teared up a little. Whatever.**

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 _Madison's p.o.v_

Washington was waiting for us in the office. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he leant back in the chair, observing us, scrutinising us. Thomas looked about ready to die, and I was pretty uncomfortable.

"So what fantastical bullshit story have you two conducted to keep Thomas off the telly?" he sighed, leaning abruptly forward. The chair groaned like a zombie in a horror movie. "Because I am telling you now, boys, I am not in the mood for it."

I could literally feel Thomas wanting to say _we can tell_ , but he held his tongue. I wordlessly handed over the precious ultrasound photos- I'd been keeping them in my pocket- and a phone number.

"What's the number for?" the President asked irritably.

"If you don't believe us," I replied, taking a deep breath. "Sir, Thomas is, uh, pregnant."

Washington stared at us for a moment before bursting into laughter. We both looked at him strangely as he wiped his eyes.

"That's a good one," he chuckled. I felt more than a little offended, and pushed the number towards him. He stopped laughing, looking at me in confusion. I simply motioned to the number. "Oh, you weren't joking."

Picking up his desk phone, he dialled the number, glancing up at us skeptically.

"Hello?" he was silent for a few moments. "Oh, Franklin! How have you been?"

I was surprised. I didn't know he knew Franklin. "Yeah... look, I'm calling about Thomas Jefferson... yeah, he says he's pregnant..."

He chuckled again, but stopped abruptly. "W-what!?" he spluttered. "H-he's actually pregnant!?"

He was silent again. I crossed my fingers behind my back. Thomas was standing as straight as a poker, and as I looked at him, I could see a small bump just beginning to form. Barely noticeable, but everything to me.

Washington seemed utterly gobsmacked as he thanked Franklin, gently placing the phone back in the receiver. He sat, staring at the floor for a few minutes, contemplating. Thomas was still standing, his body so stiff that his muscles were beginning to shake with the strain as he teetered dangerously forward. I leant a soft hand on his shoulder, and he managed to relax a little.

"I believe congratulations are in order," Washington finally said, looking up at us with a huge grin on his face. "How many weeks?"

"N-9," Thomas stuttered, collapsing in one of the seats and pressing two fingers to his neck to check his pulse. I wasn't phased. He'd been doing it a lot. Washington handed back the ultrasound photos, which I pocketed once again.

"So, no TV interviews," he said, laughing a little. "Will cabinet meetings still be alright?"

"Should be," Thomas replied.

"Would you like to tell everyone else?"

Thomas glanced at me, and I gave him a small nod which said _do what you want_.

"Sure, why not?" he shrugged. "But no press!"

The Virginian veteran nodded solemnly, and quickly called Hamilton, Burr, Jay and Adams. Thomas called Laf and Herc.

Guess we were announcing, then.

 _Jefferson's p.o.v_

It didn't take long for everyone to get to Washington's office. It turns out that Laf and Herc were out with the Schuyler sisters and Maria, so they came along for the ride. Yeah, Laf's moved over here now. Anyway, James had our mothers on speakerphone, and the office felt very crowded, claustrophobic, even.

"So, um, thank you all for coming," James said nervously, as if he were starting a very important meeting. "Everything you are about to hear is true, and does not leave this room, is that clear?"

Everyone murmured their assent.

"Well, um..." James stumbled on his words. My grip on my cane tightened. "Thomas is pregnant."

There was a moment of stunned silence before shrieks of delight burst from the phone; I could hear my mother jumping around.

"I FINALLY HAVE A GRANDCHILD!!!" she yelled.

"You already have 4, Ma," I giggled.

"Oh, shut your gob," she countered.

"Congrats!" Eliza squealed, bouncing over and hugging me, being careful of my leg and my stomach. "How's morning sickness treating you?"

"Like a bitch," I replied, smiling at her. The other men in the room, except Laf, that is, seemed dumbfounded. Peggy and Maria were fangirling royally.

" _Mon ami_!" Laf exclaimed, hugging me next. " _C'est incroyable!_ [It's unbelievable!]"

Many more congratulations were given, and by the end of it all, I was utterly exhausted, barely able to keep my eyes open. My head drooped, and I kept nodding off.

"Thomas?" James said quietly as my head nearly hit the table. I jerked up just in time, yawning and whispering about something or other. "I think we better go home, yeah?"

I nodded groggily. James bid everyone farewell, and we went home as I continued to talk to my mother.

"Aw, baby!" she squealed. "How far along?"

"9 weeks Ma," I said, unable to keep the smile off my face. "Why are you not questioning this?"

"You know not to lie to me," she brushed off. "Is the baby healthy? Are you healthy? How's James?"

"The baby's fine, I'm fine, James is fine, we're all fine," I replied, starting the car up. "Look, Ma, I gotta go, I'll call you later, yeah?"

"Okay, baby, talk to you later."

I ended the call and pulled out.

 _Madison's p.o.v_

Honestly? I didn't trust Tom to get us home safely. We barely got out of the car park when I instructed him to pull over.

"Why?" he groaned, pulling over anyway. I grabbed my phone and called Hamiltrash.

"What?" Hamilton growled.

"Hello to you to," I said, raising an eyebrow. "Look, can you drive us home?"

"Drive yourself home!"

"I can't drive, and Thomas is probably going to crash. Please?"

Hamilton huffed, and I could hear him tapping his feet.

"Okay, fine," he sighed. "Where are you?"

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 **Hope you enjoyed!!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Heyyyy. Hope you enjoy this chapter.**

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Hamilton seemed rather pissed when he came to pick us up.

Thomas was pretty much asleep when he got there, small snoring sounds coming from his bushy hair. His head was resting on the steering wheel, one hand on his stomach.

"I am _not_ picking him up," Alexander said, sounding tetchy. Incredibly tetchy.

"Who put laxatives in your coffee this morning?" I asked testily, pretty pissed myself. He gave me a dirty look. "I'll wake him up."

Lightly tapping his shoulder, I murmured something to him about getting up. He simply mumbled incoherently. Hamilton rolled his eyes and gave him a hard shake. Thomas leapt a foot in the air, yelling about something or other as the horn beeping loudly. Unfortunately, the top of the car door got in the way and he whacked his head on it. He slumped back in the seat, groaning and clutching his head.

"Oh my God, are you okay!?" I yelled, trying to pry his hand away from his head. "Here, baby, let me look."

Trembling a little, he let me see his head. A small bruise was beginning to form, a tiny, shallow cut, but other than that he seemed okay.

"I-is the baby alright?" he stammered, clutching at my hands. He was on the verge of an anxiety attack, his breathing quick and panicky. "Sebastian has to be alright!"

"He's fine, Seb- hang on a sec," I said, suddenly stopping as I realising what he'd said. "Sebastian? You've picked out names?"

"Sebastian or Eston for a boy, Martha or Lucy for a girl," he muttered, looking ashamedly at the floor.

"I love them," I replied, completely truthfully as well. He stopped for a moment, then beamed at me after throwing a murderous look Alex's way. "Drive us home now?" I said to Alex, who nodded in a way which can only be described as loathingly.

"Move, Jeffershit," he grumbled, pointing a finger to the back seat.

"Jesus Christ, who shoved a stick up your ass?" Tom shot back, scrambling slowly into the back seat. Hamilton narrowed his eyes and got huffily into the car, slamming the door. Thomas groaned and slung an arm over his eyes.

Alexander pulled out at a ridiculous speed, the tyres squeaking on the tarmac. I gripped the side of the dashboard, glancing back at Tom. He looked terrified, both arms now wrapped securely around his belly.

"Slow down!" I snapped to Hamilton, who gave me a nasty look, but took his foot off of the accelerator a little. Thomas didn't relax.

Thank God the ride home wasn't more than 10 minutes. I didn't think me, Thomas or our unborn child could've handled it for any longer. By the time we got back, Thomas was panting, sitting bolt upright. Hamilton pulled up, the tyres squealing.

"You'll have to walk back," Thomas said, trembling as I helped him out. Hamilton looked disgusted, huffing as he turned on his heel and stalked down the road without so much as a goodbye. I raised my eyebrows and unlocked the door.

"I don't feel so good," Thomas groaned putting a hand to his head. "I think I'm gonna lie down for a bit."

"I'll join you," I replied, and we got changed before crawling into bed together. Thomas was shirtless, dressed in a pair of pyjama trousers, but I still wore a t-shirt. You know why.

"Jemmy?" he whispered. I stopped self-pitying.

"Yeah?" I murmured.

"I'm gonna get fat..."

I sat up in astonishment. He was lying there, staring up at the ceiling as a single tear fell dramatically down his cheek.

"You won't get fat," I reassured him, lying back down. "Just pregnant."

"What's the difference?" he muttered, turning on his side so he was facing the wall and not me. Propping myself up on my elbow, I watched the back of his head sadly. I know not to talk to him when he's like this. My arm began to shake with the strain, and I collapsed back down, trying to snuggle with him. He couldn't help but hold my arms against him.

"There's a lot of difference," I replied quietly.

"There's really not."

"There is."

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

I tickled him incessantly, and he giggled, squirming in my arms.

"Stooooooooooop!" he squealed, jumping up a little and finally facing me. Our faces were close again, and I couldn't help but smile.

"I love you," I said quietly, rubbing our noses together. He smiled back at me. "And our little one."

And we fell asleep again, arms wrapped around each other.

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 _Jefferson's p.o.v- 1 week_ _later_

We had to go back to the hospital again. Of course, it seemed a lot, but hey, I didn't want to hurt the baby, did I?

"You okay?" James called from outside the bedroom. I examined myself in the mirror, tugging at my baggy sweater and sweatpants.

"I look horrible!" I replied, turning away from the mirror and opening the door. James took one look at me and shook his head, chuckling.

"You look beautiful, baby," he said as I pushed my glasses further up my nose.

"You promise I don't look fat?" I fretted, bending down (with difficulty) and pulling my trainers on as I leant my hand on the wall to keep myself upright.

"You look incredible, skinny, glowing, even," he replied, wrapping my coat around me. It was March, after all.

"I'm really sore," I groaned, limping heavily. James gave me a sympathetic look, hooking an arm under my shoulder.

"Do you want the crutches?" he said in a low voice. I looked up in desperation before nodding shortly, tears forming as I shut my eyes. We went over to the car, and James reached into the boot, pulling out the damm crutches. I hate those things so, so much. Hopefully no-one we knew would see us.

When we got to the bus stop, a frail old woman who was clutching a spotted trolley immediately tried to move and vacate her seat, but I waved her off.

"I'm fine," I brushed off, trying to smile at her: it was probably more of a grimance than anything.

"If you're sure," she said in a doddery way, nodding at me. James hooked his arm around me, helping me stay up.

The bus came pretty quickly, but unfortunately, it was one of those high buses that was hard to get on normally, let alone with the damn crutches. The bus driver gave me a look as ws stared pitifully at him and at the doors of the bus.

"Need the ramp?" he asked, gesturing.

"Nooooo," I said patronisingly. "Of course I need the bloody ramp!"

Then I paused. "Sorry, I didn't mean to snap, I'm just having a rough day."

He gave me a smile, motioning to James to help him put down the ramp. James unhooked himself from me and bent down, trying to pull the ramp. Damn boy, that ass be fine... anyway, he managed to get the ramp down and I limped up, plonking myself on the first double seat I saw. A mother was sitting there, rocking her baby in a pushchair. The baby was red-faced crying, and the mother was shushing him, cooing him, trying to stop the tears, but it wasn't working. Then the thoughr occurred to me: what if that was me in a year's time, on a bus with a screaming 6-month-old baby and people giving me strange looks because hey, what's that guy doing with a baby in the middle of the day, all whilst James is out at work earning our keep?

It wasn't something I particularly wanted to think about.

Looking out of the bus window as it pulled out, I gazed at the vast skyscrapers which spiralled upwards to dizzying heights, the hot-dog stands on every corner where the sausages are definitely not 100% pork no matter what they tell you, the millions of tourists with _I heart NYC_ emblazoned on their t-shirts and baseball caps squinting at their maps or snapping pictures on huge cameras slung around their necks. Call me a hopeless romantic, but it's my second home and I love it.

Fiddling with one of the crutches (which were spray-painted purple with gold sparkles), I tried to rest my head on the glass, but the constant vibrations (wow, that sounds incredibly dirty) were giving me a headache so I sat back up.

I suddenly realised something.

"James," I said urgently, tapping him on the shoulder. He turned to me, smiling. "I haven't been sick yet today."

He gave me an alarmed look and took my hands in his.

"Do you feel like you're gonna puke?" he asked. I shook my head, my stomach churning at the very thought.

I looked out onto New York City, the greatest city in the world, and wondered what the fuck I was going to do.

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 **Sorry if the ending is bad. D of E was an ultimate failure, my group got lost (very lost), got given another route then had to be bused in because one of our group twisted their ankle and couldn't walk. Bad, huh? And I had jabs today. So I'm sad. Yay.**


	6. Chapter 6

_Jefferson's p.o.v_

Bright white light filtered through the high-rise windows, bathing the linoleum in warmth. A magnificent fountain stood in the middle of the floor, overlooking the various plantboxes. Chairs lined the walls and a huge oak desk stood at the end.

And that was just the damn lobby.

I don't think I'd ever fully appreciated the true beauty before, but that was probably because I'd always been distracted every other time I'd been here. This time, my mind was relatively clear and as I looked around, I began to contemplate the fragility of life and what it represents.

But enough with that horse shit.

When I said my name to the lady in reception, she looked very excited: I think she even squealed a little bit.

"You can go straight up to Dr Franklin's office," she said, watching me doggedly as I took the elevator, looking around me as the doors closed...

James.

Where was James?

The last time I'd seen him was on the bus. We'd been sitting in those reserved seats, but then someone else had got on, some kid with a leg cast and he had to move. Had he moved back? Starting to panic, I held the crutch to the side of my body with my arm and reached for my phone. Uh oh. 7 miscalls and 13 messages. I called him back quickly.

"Heyyy," I said awkwardly as the call connected.

"Where are you?" he replied, sounding utterly furious.

"At the hospital."

"At the hospital?"

"Yeah. Where are you?"

"About 3 stops down. You had to get off first before I realised and scrambled off as soon as I could."

"How long are you gonna be?" I asked, heart hammering. The elevator pinged.

"No more than 20 minutes."

A button lit up.

"Can you be quicker?"

The framework shuddered and groaned.

"I'll be here as soon as I can."

The doors slid open.

Sighing, I said my goodbyes and disconnected the call, hopping (is hopping the right word?) down the corridor. I knocked on Franklin's noisy door.

Almost immediately the murmuring, whispering and arguing disappeared, and was replaced by a thick blanket of silence. There was a little more mumbling, some people shuffled their feet and the door was flung open to reveal Franklin in all his 5' 9" glory, grinning merrily at me.

"Thomas!" he exclaimed, pulling me into a reluctantly-returned hug. He paused for a moment, and then said, "Where's James?"

"Wrong bus stop," I explained. He smiled at me again and ushered me inside.

There most have been at least 20 people in that room. Women, men, all wearing long white lab coats and clutching notebooks, pens poised like daggers. Their eyes were trained on me, and I carefully avoided all 40 eyes by looking at the floor.

"What's with the crutches?" one called. My face flushed and I closed my eyes, listening to Franklin explain the whole stupid leg thing. Pens scribbled, but suddenly the door slammed and James ran in, panting.

"Sorry I'm late," he mumbled, letting me pass him my crutches and lean on him. Franklin smiled and shook his head, gesturing to the two seats.

We sat down, facing him. I placed my hands at the side of my eye, blocking out the creepy-ass eyes that were watching me, raking over my body. I unconsciously placed my hands on my stomach.

"So, how have you been?" Franklin asked, leaning forward and clasping his hands on the desk.

"Okay, I replied in a tone that suggested I was reasoning with myself. "I mean, today is the first day in 4 weeks I haven't thrown up. It's nice, to be honest."

He chuckled.

"That's normal," he replied. "Some wo- people get worse morning sickness than others."

We talked a for a few more minutes before he asked me to stand up and pull up my sweatshirt. I did so self-consciously. Grabbing a tape measure, Franklin wrapped it around my stomach, smiling as he checked it. More scribbling. James watched intently. I hopped up onto the bed (which was thankfully lower this time) and let him run the ultrasound wand over my stomach. Most in the room gasped as our child appeared on the screen.

"Would you like to hear the heartbeat?" Franklin asked softly. I nodded, glancing at James. He was smiling at the screen.

Franklin fiddled a little with the machine, and a whoosing sound filled the air. A hush fell across the room, and I could feel everyone's eyes on me as I looked at my child. God, he was so beautiful. Or she. Whatever. They'd be beautiful anyway.

"Beautiful," I whispered as Franklin wiped the gel off and let me sit slowly up before helping me onto a set of scales. They read normal, apparently. With a couple of blood pressure checks, we sat back down and reviewed the findings.

"Everything seems perfectly fine," Franklin announced, smiling at us.

"If you don't mind me asking, why are all these people here?" James cut in anxiously.

"Don't worry, they're not reporters," he replied. "It's just the is the first male pregnancy... well, ever."

I laughed awkwardly, nodding along with the reporters. I hooked my arms under the slight bulge in my stomach, protecting my child. None of these slimy researchers were going to get their hands on him/her!

All of a sudden, I felt my stomach begin to roll. You know like when you switch the washing machine on, it clunks and makes some weird noises before starting to swirl. That's basically what happened with my stomach. It dropped at least a foot, gurgled a bit and then I pretty much immediately began to projectile-vomit all over the floor. Doctors, nurses and researchers leapt out of the firing range and many began to squiggle down notes on my condition as James held my hair back and rubbed circles into my back.

"Sorry," I mumbled as I sat back up, feeling exhausted."Headache'll probably hit in about half an hour."

Franklin smiled apologetically.

"Would you mind staying here until that's over?"

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 **Wow that was... awful. Damn. Next chapter should be better (hopefully). Hope you enjoyed, but don't worry if you didn't.**


	7. Chapter 7

_Jefferson's p.o.v_

I stared dumbly at Franklin, which I seemed to be doing a lot recently, my mouth hanging open a little. James' hand was gripping mine fiercely, and when I glanced at him, his lips were pressed tightly together, the skin on them as pale as it could go.

"Why?" I asked quietly, dropping my gaze to the vomit-splattered linoleum. It really stank, and the smell was making me feel nauseous again.

"Nothing's wrong," Franklin replied hurriedly. "We'd just like to monitor your condition, hormones, all that. You okay with needles?"

"I've got used to them," I said. "But I still don't quite understand why you want me to stay here."

"It's just a precaution. I already told you, male pregnancies can be dangerous."

I rolled my eyes and scoffed a little. Everything from cheap ham to Donald Duck is dangerous these days.

"What could be so dangerous?" James piped up before I could say anything, sounding scared.

"Well, the male body isn't equipped to deal with pregnancy," someone, a woman from the gaggle of doctors began.

"Side effects such as morning sickness are often more extreme and frequent," a young man continued. Yeah. Like you needed to tell me that. Just look at the floor.

"The raging hormones could mess up the essentially important chemical workings in Thomas' body, so we have to watch him carefully so no harm comes to him or the baby," Franklin finished gently. I nodded again, now understanding a little more about why I needed to be monitored like a three-year-old.

"How long will I be here?" I said softly, one hand still encased in James', the other clamped on my leg as painful memories surged forward.

 _3rd person p.o.v- flashback_

They could paint as many jolly faces of cartoon characters on the wall as they wanted, put as many ancient battered board games out as they liked and scatter any number of comic books over the peeling neon vinyl-coated tables as they pleased, but none of it would change the sombre atmosphere.

They were only 9, for Pete's sake. 9-year-old boys climb trees, that's just what happens!

It wasn't Thomas' fault. He'd lost his footing, fell, hadn't been able to grab anything in a panic. Neither was it James' fault. He'd been sitting too far away to catch him, and even if he'd been close enough, he was too weak and frail to keep him up for more than two seconds.

James sat sniffling in his mother's arms, his blue inhaler clutched in his trembling hand: crying tended to set off his asthma. He was 9, but he looked about 6. Short in stature, his growth had been stunted by constant illness and frequent hospitalisation.

They weren't here for James now.

The young boy's eyes were glued to the corridor whilst his mother ran her hands soothingly through his curly cropped hair as he leant back into her.

"Go to sleep, Jamie," she whispered, kissing the top of his head. He shook his head fiercely, unconsciously sucking his thumb.

"Gotta wait for Thomas," he mumbled, curling up a little tighter.

"Thomas is gonna be a little while longer," Eleanor replied. "Sleep, baby. I'll wake you up if anything happens."

He shook his head, but the fact that he was lying down as best he could and yawning betrayed his exhaustion. Pouting, he let his eyes slip shut, his breathing evened out and he was asleep.

Eleanor lay him on the chair, lovingly drawing a blanket over her small son. It was just after 2 in the morning. Thomas had been in surgery since 7. The fall had happened at 6:12 p.m., 22nd of August 1999. Eleanor knew she'd never forget that blood-curlding scream as long as she lived.

Suddenly, Jane Jefferson, Thomas' mother, burst through the double door. Peter Jefferson wasn't far behind. Eleanor jumped up, engulfing her best friend and fellow mother in a bone-crushing hug.

"He's going to be okay," Jane sobbed, holding Eleanor. Careful not to disturb her sleeping son, Eleanor pulled the other to a seat, sitting her down.

"What did they say?" she asked in a hushed voice.

"W-well, he's out of surgery," Jane said in a shaky voice. "They-they're not quite sure h-how much damage was done, but th-there's a possibility that he might not walk pr-properly again."

And she descended into crying again. Her sobs of anguish were so loud that they stirred James. The small boy rubbed his eyes blearily, slipping off the chair and pattering over to Jane, who was virtually his second mother.

"Why are you crying, Mrs Jefferson?" he lisped, eyes shining with tears. "I-is Thomas okay?"

His bottom lip trembled and tears poured out onto his chocolate brown skin. The two mothers swept him up, wiping away his tears, promising him his best friend was okay.

James glanced over to the chair by the tacky plastic dollhouse. His father was sitting stoically, back perfectly straight and staring straight ahead. When James coughed a little, he looked at him, his face breaking into a smile. He winked and nodded his head as if to say _it's time_.

That was the last time James saw his dead father until he was about to get married.

 _Jefferson's p.o.v- Flashback over_

Franklin was talking, but I wasn't listening. He said something about overnight, and then I just tuned out.

"That's fine," I blurted, interrupting him halfway through. He smiled warmly at me.

"Right this way, please."

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 **Okay, so that got absolutely nowhere, but we got some hella tragic backstory. Yeah, when I said _both fathers_ in the end of the last book, I didn't say one of them couldn't be in spirit form! I'm cruel, I really am. Hope you enjoyed!**


	8. Chapter 8

_Madison's p.o.v_

We followed Franklin down a whiter-than-white corridor. Thomas lagged behind a bit, and I lagged behind with him because hey, that's my kick-ass husband and I love him to death!

"I hate these crutches," he muttered angrily, and I still don't know to this day if he was talking to me, as the _click-clack_ of the crutches echoed through the corridor. Franklin was way ahead at this point, and I nodded along with my husband.

"Hopefully you shouldn't need them for much longer," I replied in a hushed voice, watching Franklin stop and turn into a room. We followed as fast as we could.

The room was pretty bare. A hospital bed in a white suit, dirty white walls and an ugly fake wood bedside table, it was the very essence of Dullsville. There was an ensuite, though.

Thomas looked around the room, crestfallen. Balancing the crutches against the wall, he staggered over to the bed, denying any help me or Franklin offered him. Collapsing upon it, he sat there shaking for a few seconds before saying quietly,

"I'd like to be alone with James, please."

Franklin nodded and backed out respectively, me watching him all the way.

I turned back to Tom, and I was surprised to see him staring the wall down. His face had a vacant expression, and his eyes were a little glazed over.

"Thomas?" I said as loudly and as cautiously as I dared, kneeling down in front of him. He looked up at me and the glazed look disappeared as he smiled when he saw my face.

"You're so beautiful, you know that?" he said, his voice dreamy. I blushed furiously, looking down at the floor.

"You're not too bad yourself," I teased as I went over and sat next to him, letting him rest his head on my shoulder as I sat next to him on the bed. The floor was cold. He sighed heavily in a world-weary sort of way, raising his eyes towards the ceiling as if praying to some deity.

"Do you know how much I hate this shit?" he said, his hand balling into a fist on his knee.

"Yeah," I replied, curling my legs up on the bed. The bed was nice and warm, and me and Thomas were in a weird-ass position, me curled up super-small and Thomas with his head half-on my shoulder, half-on my head.

I hadn't slept much the night before. I'd stayed up thinking about our future child. Would our New York apartment be big enough? Would we move back to Virginia? Would we get our own house in the suburbs (God knows we could afford one) or would we raise our kids in the heart of New York City?

"Do you want me to stay here with you?" I asked, stifling a yawn.

"It's up to you," he replied faintly, lifting his head off mine. Looking up at him, I saw him holding a hand to his head, groaning softly to himself. Giving him a sympathetic look, I gently helped him into the bed, kissing the top of his head before shutting out the lights and slipping out of the room.

Franklin was waiting outside for me, leaning casually on the wall.

"He's asleep," I said, closing the door as quietly as I could. "I wouldn't disturb him for a couple of hours, he usually gets a killer headache."

"You should head home," Franklin told me, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Get some sleep."

"B-but..." I stuttered, trailing off when Franklin gave me a look. Pouting a little, I rubbed the back on my neck sheepishly. "Okay, but tell Thomas where I've gone, and tell him I'll be back by 3. Oh, and when he wakes up, he'll be hyper. Don't give him any sugar, like at all, and, um, and make sure he does what he's told. He's-"

"Don't worry," Franklin said kindly, smiling at me. "He'll be fine."

He paused for a moment, chuckling. "You'll make a great dad."

Stunned, I nodded shakily, turned on my heel and marched out of the hospital.

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Knocking on Peggy's door, I stamped my feet up and down, trying to introduce some warmth into my feet. It was the start of April, after all, and it was still a little cold.

The door was flung open and I was surprised to be faced with Hamilton, his son Philip wound around his leg.

"James?" he said, sounding confused. "Why are you here alone? Where's Thomas? You okay?"

"Thomas is in the hospital-" I said, about to go on, but Alexander gasped and called into the room:

"THOMAS IS IN THE HOSPITAL!"

There was a collective gasp and Peggy, Eliza, Laf, Herc and Maria's faces appeared and someone pulled me into the room. They were all talking, asking what had happened.

"Silence!" I yelled, and everyone shut their gobs. "Look, he's fine, it's just for observation. We went in for the scan, eveything looks fine, heard the heartbeat-"

Everyone _awwwwed_. "Then he projectile-vomited everywhere and they said they needed to keep him in for observation."

They all nodded solemnly, except the two little ones who were playing with a plastic fire engine in the corner.

"I don't wanna go home," I sniffed. "It feels empty without Thomas there."

The girls and Laf cooed, sweeping me into a hug.

"Aw, darling," Eliza said, cupping my face in her hands as the others dispersed. "Are you okay?"

"Little tired, actually," I replied. That was an understatement. I was utterly exhausted and about ready to drop.

"Bedroom's in the back!" Peggy called over the room. I nodded in thanks and trudged into the bedroom, flopping onto the bed and falling asleep almost instantly.

 _3 hours later- Jefferson's p.o.v_

I blinked a couple of times before scrunching my eyes shut, the bright white lights hurting my eyes. I've never quite understood why hospitals have such harsh lights when they mainly house sick people who don't like bright lights. It doesn't make any sense!

I could hear people whispering around me, but I groaned deeply and rolled onto my side away from them, stubbornly keeping my eyes shut.

"Thomas? You awake?" a voice, someone I didn't recognise said from behind me. I didn't reply, just shielded my eyes and opened them a little. Turns out the person was a woman, and she was stood in front of me, smiling down at me. I fought the urge to stick my tongue out at her like a petulant child.

"What?" I mumbled.

"Sorry to wake you up like this, but we're ready to start tests now," she said, smiling brightly at me. I didn't smile back. I was, thank God, still in my own clothes, and I hauled myself out of bed, twice trying unsuccessfully to get off the bed to reach my crutches. Feeling ashamed, I held out my hand for them. She passed them to me.

"Where's James?" I asked suddenly as we made our way slowly down the corridor. "He was here when I went to sleep."

She looked down at her clipboard, studied it for a moment and then looked back at me.

"Dr Franklin said to tell you that he told James to go home and that James will be back by 3."

A quick glance at my watch told me that it was already quarter past 1.

We walked in silence, and as we did so, my anxiety soared. Why had Franklin told James to go home? Was he sick? Theories ran amock as we entered a small consultation room. Franklin was sat in a chair, and he swivelled around to face me like a villain in a Bond movie.

"Thomas, how do you feel?" he asked warmly, gesturing for me to sit down. I did so.

"You saw me like 3 hours ago," I replied. "I'm fine."

"O-"

"Why did you send James home?" I blurted before I could stop myself. "Did you even send him home? Did he leave? Why didn't he stay with me? What time-"

"Don't worry, I sent him," Franklin cut in, chuckling. "It's cute that you two are so concerned about each other. He looked tired."

I tried to smile as I nodded. Franklin gave a small nod before pulling out a large rubber band, a specimen jar and a big needle. A very big needle. If my memory serves me correctly, the actual needle was about 2-and-a-half inches long and was glinting menacingly at me. I couldn't help but shuffle backwards a little, shuddering.

Okay, so maybe the fear of needles isn't very manly, but it's a valid fear! It's called trypanophobia and affects millions, perhaps billions of people around the globe. The mere thought of some stranger stabbing me with a piece of metal which could very well be infected by some horrible disease which could very well kill me just makes my skin crawl. Great, look, now I'm shuddering.

Anyway, Franklin gave me a strange look as he prepped the needle, beckoning for my arm. I shook my head, terrified. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Thomas, please don't be difficult," he said exhasperatedly, with just a hint of pleading in his voice. "I have had a very long day and I am not in the mood for it."

For some reason, his harsh tone got to me, making a lump form in my throat and tears prick my eyes. I looked down, convulsively trying to swallow the lump as I brought my knees to my chest and nuzzled my face into a soft, fluffy material of my sweatpants. Franklin must've noticed that I was trying not to cry (well it was pretty goddamn obvious) as he gibbered uselessly for a few seconds before clearing his throat and trying to apologise.

"I'm just a bit scared of needles," I said hoarsely, my voice sodden with tears.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"James was there. I never feel scared when James is around."

He smiled softly and picked up the phone.

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 **Hope you enjoyed! Sorry for the wait!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Ah'm back! Hope you enjoy this chapter!**

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 _Madison's p.o.v_

 _Slide to the left! Take a back now, y'all! 1 hop this time! Right foot left stomp! Left foot left stomp! Cha-cha real smooth..._

I really need to change my ringtone.

No, before you ask, I don't know why my ringtone is the Cha-Cha Slide. When it woke me up that afternoon, I actually unconsciously began to move along with the music before waking up properly, realising I looked like a prat and stopping.

Groaning and trying to wipe the sleep from my eyes, I reached groggily for my phone, squinting at the screen. I scrambled upwards, answering immediately when I saw that it was Franklin.

"Yeah?" I said, stifling a yawn.

"Would you mind coming up here?" he asked, sounding tired. I began to get worried.

"No, why?" I replied cautiously, clambering to my feet. Franklin sighed and mumbled something.

That feeling, in those few seconds, when I didn't know what was wrong and whenever I get a phone call about Thomas from a doctor or someone... it's like an itch. An itch deep down in your brain that won't go away no matter how many metaphorical coat-hangers you stick in your ear. An itch that can never be fully placated until something comes along and shoves a boot up it's arse, saying "Go, on, beat it!" which is, quite honestly, rarely if never. Nothing can ever fully cure it. As irritating as it is, you have to just wait for it to make its own way out.

Ridiculous. That's the only way to describe it. Normal behaviour goes out the window as you desperately try to get rid of it, frantically try to erase its presence even though you know it's futile, because you can't. You just can't. It's impossible. It will never be possible.

It stands there like roadworks on the highway. You don't move for an hour, sometimes more, then you slowly lug yourself an inch or so forward before shuddering to a halt. It's unavoidable, as there's no route around it. It's like all the roads around it are flooded, or there's been a tragic accident and the air ambulance blocks the way.

No-one will ever truly understand. People claim that they understand, that they know the feeling, but they don't, do they? You don't know, you don't really know until you've experienced it, felt it, lived it in your own life.

Doesn't matter, does it?

"Thomas is scared of needles and we need a blood test. He says he'd feel better if you were here," Franklin said. I let out a sigh of relief.

"Let me talk to my husband," I said, perhaps a little more harshly that I'd meant. My husband. Sounds so kick-ass, doesn't it? Much better than my boyfriend. My boyfriend sounds so wet and second-grade-like. Down the other end of the phone, I heard some muffled talking and then I instinctively knew that Thomas.

"So what's going on, you little macaroni fucker?" I asked, running a hand through my cropped hair.

"It's a very big needle, Mads," he shot back, trying to sound tough, but his childish language and trembling voice gave it away. "It's like 3 inches long!"

"That's nothing, Tom," I replied as I sat on the edge of the bed. "Look, d'you think you can manage it without me? I'm at Peggy's, and considering lunchtime rush hour, I'll be at least half an hour, if not longer."

"No," he said faintly. "I'm never scared when you're here."

My heart melted a little.

"Okay, just relay to Franklin how bloody long I'm gonna be," I said, sounding irritable. I often sound like that when I've just woken up. "Love you."

"Love you too," he whispered quickly.

The line went dead.

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Thomas was shaking when I arrived at Franklin's office 45 minutes later, teeth chattering and fingers frozen. I swept him into a hug, holding him close.

"Sorry I took so long," I whispered to Franklin over Tom's shoulder. The doctor simply shook his head and smiled.

"Hey," Thomas said softly, standing back a little.

"Look, you gotta get this blood test done," I replied, guiding him to the seat and pulling his arm gently towards me. He whimpered but didn't pull away. Franklin came forward, the needle poised in his hand as he tied the tourniquet. Thomas looked away and closed his eyes.

Taking his free hand, I squeezed it supportively, watching as Franklin tapped the needle a couple of times to expel any air bubbles before taking Thomas' arm and gently sliding the needle into the skin. The blood collected in the vial, and I couldn't help but watch in fascination.

It's interesting, isn't it? The human fascination with blood, I mean. Pain and suffering enchants us, brings us in, makes us curious. Perhaps it's something to do with our fear of mortality. Death scares all of us, whether it be our own deaths or the deaths of the ones we love and hold dear to ourselves. It intrigues me, death, especially murders. What goes through that person's mind whilst they're killing someone, planning a murder? Some say I'm a psychopath. I think it's just natural curiosity.

Franklin took the needle out and lay it on a sterile sheet, holding a wad of cotton wool onto the entry point and securing it with a bit of tape.

"It's over, baby," I murmured to Thomas, who finally looked up at me, tentatively opening his eyes. He looked down at his arm, up at Franklin and then back to me.

"That wasn't too bad," he replied quietly. He seemed embarrassed, a slight red tint coming to his cheeks.

"It's okay, you were scared," I said, rubbing the top of his arm.

He smiled and wrapped an arm around my waist.

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 **Hope you enjoyed. Gotta go to a family dinner tonight (Lord help me) so it's rather likely that there will be another update tonight. Peace out, dudes.**


	10. Chapter 10

_2 weeks later- Jefferson's p.o.v_

Luckily, all the tests came back normal, and the baby and I seemed perfectly healthy, so Franklin let us go with orders to take it easy and come back in 2 weeks, which, obviously, is now. Pretty much as soon as we got home, I ditched the crutches and stuck to my trusty cane.

My baby bump was growing steadily and was now sort of noticeable. I couldn't believe that 3 months had passed already, and I was now a third of the way through my pregnancy.

Then came that morning.

I woke up bright and early to throw up, just like always. By this point, I rarely if ever got the headaches anymore, so I was wide awake when I looked up into the mirror.

Spots.

So many fucking spots, all just sitting there on my face. Before I could stop myself, I screamed out loud and then clapped my hand over my mouth. I heard a bash, a clang, a few muttered curses and then James leapt into the bathroom, sleep still half-sticking his eyes together, yelling incoherently and brandishing a frozen garlic baguette.

"Of all the things you could've chosen. A garlic baguette. Really?" were the first words out of my mouth. I quickly looked down, not turning around to face my husband.

"I thought you were in danger," he replied through a yawn, lowering the baguette. "It was the first thing I found."

"Lafayette would be proud."

I could feel James studying me, trying to figure out the problem, but I still didn't look up, ashamed of my face.

"You okay?" he asked. Unable to stand it any longer, I shook my head. "What's wrong, baby?"

The alarm in his voice was evident, and I finally looked up at him.

He didn't even react, just looked at my face, down at my bare torso and studied that for a moment before nodding in approval, smirking and looking back up at my face.

"I don't notice anything too drastic," he said.

I rolled my eyes.

"I'm literally only wearing sweatpants, I'm pregnant and my face has been maimed by unwanted acne," I shot back with as much sarcasm as I could muster. "Totally normal, totally."

"It's only a few spots," James replied, stepping forward a little.

"I counted at least 20," I said, giving him a look. "Don't try and be cute with me, we both know it works but stop it."

He giggled.

"Why don't you just pop them?" he said casually. I gasped in abhorrence, placing a hand to my chest. James seemed confused by my reaction. "What?" he added, narrowing his eyes.

"You never had acne," I explained. "They hurt like hell to pop and some are so goddamn stubborn that you have to stick a pin in 'em."

He hissed and winced. I shrugged, walking out of the bathroom with my feet splayed out and one hand on my stomach. James followed, looking at me curiously.

"It's my waddle," I said as I flopped on to the sofa. "What d'you think?"

He laughed and kissed the top of my nose.

"It's adorable!"

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Around 11, we got a knock on the door.

I was fast asleep tucked up in bed like some old sick guy when the knock came, so James answered it.

"PEGGY'S HERE, BITCHES!!!!!"

Not exactly the most pleasant thing to wake up to.

I sat bolt upright, all sleepiness gone as I listened to James and who I assumed to be her sisters whisper-scold her..

"Thomas is asleep!" James whisper angrily. Well, as angrily as he could. Did you know that James can only get so angry before he just bursts out crying?

"Geez, sorry, I didn't realise," she replied, still pretty loud.

"Don't worry about it, Pegsters," I shouted to her, signalling my wakefullness. There was some inaudible whispering, and then I heard some badly disguised sniffling. So James had reached the pinnacle of his anger.

Peggy poked her around the doorframe, looking apologetic and guilty.

"Hey," she said, coming in and sitting on the edge of the bed. I sat up, drawing the covers up to the neck. "So, your husband's crying 'cause of me."

"It's only because he's mad at you," I replied. "Like, really mad. Probably because you woke me up."

She shrugged, now sitting cross-legged in front of me as she rubbed the back of her neck, averting her gaze.

"Sorry," she whispered.

"Don't worry," I said. I couldn't take it any longer as I looked up at the ceiling, biting my lip as not to ask the question. "So was he like full-on sobbing or just..."

"Full-on sobbing," Peggy admitted after a pause. I watched her for a moment as she picked at the bedclothes and sniffed back tears.

"I wouldn't worry too much about it," I said quickly as Angelica stormed in, glaring at Peggy with slap-like intensity. We both shuffled back a bit.

"Well, congratulations, Peggy," she hissed, hands on hips.

"Honestly, Angelica, it doesn't matter," I insisted, running a hand through my hair and suddenly feeling a little self-conscious about my face. "James is just super mad."

Angelica shook her head, tutting as she pulled out a make-up bag from her Mary-Poppins-like handbag.

"James said that there was a dire situation that required our expertise," Peggy explained, holding out her hand for a tube of foundation that Angelica handed her. The youngest Schuyler sister beckoned for my hand.

"Throw that t-shirt over?" I asked, putting on my best puppy-dog eyes. Angelica chucked over my Squip t-shirt, which I pulled quickly over my head before climbing out from under the duvet and giving Peggy my hand. Placing a blob of the liquid onto my skin. Peggy observed it for a moment before shaking her hand and saying to her sister,

"Your's is too dark, Angie. Try mine."

The foundation on my hand was wiped off and another blob, lighter this time, replaced it. My brow crinkled as I tried to make sense of this bizarre circus act. I mean, I understand the whole hair deal, I have to go through all that myself, but make-up? Nope. Never have, never will.

"Looks good, Pegs," Angelica said, interrupting my thoughts. "We'll use your concealer as well."

Peggy was handed a brush, and I was painted like a bloody canvas. It must've been 3 inches thick, and very obvious. I tried to smile gratefully as I stared in the mirror.

All of a sudden, James' tear-streaked face poked around the door. He was sniffing feebly, but his eyes widened when he saw me.

"Who dumped a bucket of melted crayon on your face?" he asked stupidly before remembering who must've done it. "I-I'm so sorry, I-I didn't mean it like that!" he stammered. Peggy silently handed me a make-up wipe, and I wiped it very quickly off.

"Sorry, Pegs," I said, rubbing the back of my neck sheepishly. She shrugged, seeming unphased.

I'm very lucky to have the friends that I have, aren't I?

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 **Oh God, sorry this took so long. Writer's block and hayfever have been collaborating to kill me. Hope this okay!!**


	11. Chapter 11

**I'm back, bitches! Hope you enjoy this chapter, my dudes!**

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 _1 day later- Jefferson's p.o.v_ "No, I stand by what I said, every bit of it! We are not getting the bus again!"

James looked despairingly up at me, his brown eyes pleading as he stood on his tiptoes in an attempt to seem a little taller. I shook my head, refusing to relent.

"Why not?" he protested, and I could tell that he was resisting the urge to stamp his foot.

"Why can't I drive?" I shot back.

"Well, driving in New York can be dangerous and you're..." he trailed off. I glared at him, silently forcing him to continue. "Well, you're pretty delicate right now."

"DELICATE!?" I roared, outraged. "I am not delicate, I am just as strong as I was before and I-"

A wave of dizziness cut me off, my body's way of warning me to calm down. I stumbled a little, and I felt James' strong, supporting hand gripping my arm.

"Can't Laf or Herc or someone drive us?" I said quietly, hanging my head as I placed a hand on my bump. "I hate that bloody bus."

James looked at me for a minute before sighing and pulling out his phone.

 _25 April 12:59 p.m._ **Mads:** Anyone able to drop me and Thomas off at the hospital? He refuses to get the bus

 **Laf:** _Désolé, mes amis, j'ai travailluer_ [I am sorry, my friends, I have to work]

 **TJeffs:** What do you even do?

 **Laf:** Coffee shop

 **Herc:** Sorry, guys, need to get this costume done

 **Hamilton** Sure, but I'll have to bring the kids

 **Mads:** Done

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"Daddy, daddy, please can we have McDonalds!?"

"McDonalds, McDonalds, McDonalds!"

I heard Hamilton sigh and felt nothing but sympathy for him. Poor him, the kids constantly on his case... then I remembered that I was going to have a kid. Ah.

James glanced to me where I was lying on the sofa as he unlocked and unbolted the door, opening it to see Hamilton with Philip on his shoulders and mini-Angelica hanging onto his arm. The Treasury Secretary looked exhausted, and even that was underestimating.

"Hey," I called, wincing as my stomach cramped viciously. It was like my intestines were trapped in a vice that just kept clamping down harder and harder. "So, McDonalds, eh?"

"Don't mention that damned restuarant in front of me," Alexander replied through gritted teeth, setting Philip down and pulling the two chattering children into the room. James shut the door behind them.

"Hey, babe, we got any paracetamol?" I asked suddenly as another cramp bit at my abdomen. James gave me a weird look, but nodded, fumbling around in the kitchen cabinet for a moment or so before tossing me a pack of the painkilling drugs.

"You okay?" he replied slowly, concern lacing his voice as I pushed a couple of pills out of the foil packet and tipping them into my mouth, swallowing them without so much as a gulp of water.

"Fine," I said shortly, turning my attention to little Philip, who was gazing at me in awe. "Hey, buddy."

"Is it true that you have a baby inside of you?" he blurted, rocking on his heels. Hamilton made a face.

"Yep," I answered confidently, smiling at the small boy, who grinned back.

"Cool!" he yelped.

"Wanna see pictures?" I asked. He nodded vigorously, and I motioned to James to hand 'em over. He did so, pecking me on the cheek. As Philip poured over them, his brow furrowed in deep concentration, Hamilton turned to me.

"So you getting changed or..." he trailed off.

"Nope," I replied.

"So you're just going out in public in sweatpants and a Comic-con t-shirt, with an acne-ridden face and untamed hair?"

"Yup."

"Am I still speaking to Thomas Jefferson, or have you been possessed, because if creepy shit starts happening, I'm leaving."

I laughed.

Maybe Hamilton wasn't such a jerk after all.

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Getting out of the house wasn't too big of a deal, right? Right?

Wrong.

Well, first off, Angelica- let's call her little Angie for future reference so we don't get mixed up- Angie kept taking her shoes off, refusing to put them back on and then screaming her head off when Alexander tried to put them on her feet. In the end, he just gave up and carried her, which I think was her plan all along. Then after that, all the way through the car ride where I was sat up in the front and James was wedged uncomfortably between one massive, bulky car seat and one booster seat, the two kids were screaming and shouting. Bits of Cheerios flying everywhere, nothing but noise... it was a goddamn zoo!

Finally, after 10 minutes of badgering, Hamilton relented and took a detour to McDonalds.

"Not a word to your mother," he warned the kids as we pulled up to the drive-thru. The children nodded solemnly. Alexander quickly ordered a couple of Happy Meals and a black coffee before turning to me and James expectantly.

"Um, medium strawberry milkshake, please," James called, even leaning forward a little to emphasise his point.

"Large chicken nugget meal, chocolate milkshake and an Oreo McFlurry, please," I said, pulling out my wallet. "Hamilton I owe you what, 8, 9 dollars?"

Alexander thought for a moment before shaking his head.

"You don't owe me anything."

I felt... honoured as we pulled up to the paying window.

"Are you sure?" James said nervously from the back seat. "I mean, you're driving us to the hospital, we can't expect you to-"

"Nothing more than a favour to a couple of friends," he replied. Me and James smiled at each other.

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You know what, let's just skip to the scan. It was just Franklin this time, which was a bit of a relief, to be honest. We chatted for a couple of minutes, then I got up on the bed and the scan began.

I loved seeing that image of my child on the small screen, however ill-defined it was. And then hearing the heartbeat, like the strong gallop of a horse's hooves... it's beautiful.

How could I have ever been scared?

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 **Hope you enjoyed. Feedback is totally appreciated, btw, and if any of you guys would want, I'm thinking of starting a Be More Chill oneshot book (JeremyMichael). You guys want that? Let me know in the comments. Peace out, my people, and Happy Pride Month again.**


	12. Chapter 12

**I know it's been a while, but I'm finally back. Exams are over, D of E has been passed and options have been sorted, so I now have a lot of time to finally write this. Please enjoy this chapter!**

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 _3 weeks later- Madison's p.o.v_

"Are you nearly ready?"

I sighed, tapping my foot impatiently as I leant against the bedroom door, my hand hovering over the handle. I'd been waiting there for almost an hour at this point, and Thomas was _still_ in there!

"I'll be out in a second!" came the half-crazed call from inside the bedroom, tainted with a thick Southern accent.

"You said that half an hour ago!" I shouted back, feeling more than a little exhasperated. "Look, I'm coming in, okay?"

"DO NOT COME IN HERE!"

I was surprised at the strength and desperation in the yell. Tears began to fill me eyes at the idea that my husband didn't want my help, so I didn't respond, instead simply walking towards the kitchen and wiping my eyes in case Thomas decided to surface anytime soon.

There was almost a minute of silence that followed, only broken by the shrill whistle of the kettle boiling for my tea.

"Please don't be mad..." Thomas said quielty through the bedroom door, but not so quietly that I couldn't hear him say it. His voice seemed sodden with tears and I instantly felt bad.

"I'm not mad, baby," I replied gently, taking my scalding cup of tea and standing by the door. "Just tell me what's wrong, yeah?"

"Um... perhaps it's easier if I show you..."

No movement.

"I think that requires opening the door, babe."

I heard a soft "oh!" and the door opened to reveal Thomas. I instantly burst out laughing, his look was so comical. He was wearing a t-shirt bearing the words _I'd rather be at Hogwarts_ and his jeans were around his knees. His bump was now a considerable size.

"It's not funny!" he said, sounding hurt.

"Oh sugar, we need to get you some maternity clothes," I giggled, putting my tea on the side. He pouted as I threw a pair of sweatpants his way. "You'll just have to wear these for now. We'll go shopping after work."

"Work!? In sweatpants!?" Tom gasped, placing a hand on his chest. "How could you suggest such a thing?"

"Or you could go to work with no pants on," I shot back. "Now I wouldn't mind that at all."

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I had to refrain from sighing as I watched Thomas loiter the doorway, apparently refusing to enter the room. Everyone was watching curiously as I hissed furiously at him.

"Thomas I-wish-you-had-a-middle-name-right-now Jefferson, get your perfectly shaped ass in this room right now!" I whisper-yelled, resisting the urge to stamp my foot like a toddler.

"James Madison Jr, I'm telling you now that I am not coming into that room!" he responded, mimicing my tone. "It's embarrassing!"

"I'll give you a massage tonight."

That caught him off-guard. He narrowed his eyes, but I could hear the cogs in his brain whirring.

"And Ben and Jerry's?" he said hopefully.

"What else?"

He huffed, tapped his foot a couple of times and looked to the ceiling before shyly edging into the room. Everyone gave him one look, shrugged and returned to their work, some looking rather disappointed. I think they were expecting an awful haircut or something way more embarrassing.

Thomas seemed surprised, looking at me before lacing our fingers together and strolling to our desk. We sat down next to each other and began working in silence.

I felt a cough tickle the back of my throat, but willed it to stay where it was. Thomas had enough to worry about without me being sick as well. I mean, I didn't want to trouble him with something as trivial as an asthma attack, and no I do not mean that sarcastically.

Unfortunately, the inevitable invaded and I was forced to cough. This, however, descended into a full-on coughing fit and I soon felt my chest get sort of tight.

"Hey, you've got your inhaler, right?" Thomas asked worriedly, turning away from his computer where he had been pretending to be doing work but really just watching cat videos. I nodded, still coughing.

"Jacket pocket," I wheezed out between coughs. Thomas reached over and dug his hand into the pocket, fumbling for my inhaler. He soon found it, handing it to me. I shook it and took a quick puff, instantly feeling my chest relax. The coughing subsided soon afterwards.

"In 20 to 30 minutes, I will show you how much this means to me," I said quickly, my voice hoarse. By this time, a sizeable crowd had gathered, but Thomas didn't seem to notice as he smiled and rested a hand on my cheek.

"As long as you're okay," he said.

"Is everything okay over there?"

We all looked over to see Washington standing there with his arms folded but still looking concerned. Basically like McGonagall.

"It is now, Mr President," Hamilton called over. "James just had a minor asthma attack. Nothing major."

"Why didn't you call me!?" Washington exclaimed, coming over. "Are you okay, James?"

I nodded. He didn't seem satisfied, but moved away anyway, along with much of the crowd. We chatted with Hamilton for a few minutes (at which point he told us how we were _gonna be the most tired you've ever been in your life. Think about a time where you wanted to drop dead with exhaustion. Now triple it That's how tired you_ _are gonna be_ when the baby comes) before he had to go and pick Philip up from school. They were finishing early for some unknown reason.

Thomas and I held hands under the table and just thought about how awesome our lives were going to be.


	13. Chapter 13

_5 weeks later-_ _Jefferson's p.o.v_

Franklin's office was packed.

Again.

I glanced up at James, one hand on my belly and the other encased in his.

In case any of you haven't been tracking, I was at 20 weeks. Now, everyone knows that 20 weeks is a crucial stage in the pregnancy. You're halfway through the preganancy, morning sickness usually stops, and perhaps most importantly of all, you can find out the sex of the baby. And that's why so many people are here again.

Originally, James and I weren't going to find out the sex of the baby. We wanted it to be a surprise, y'know. But then my mother went on about trying to find neutral colours for the nursery and I knew at that moment that, one we were having a rainbow nursery regardless of the sex of the baby, and two we were going to have to find out the sex of the baby. At least it means we get to have a gender reveal party. The cake is gonna have coloured MMs in the middle.

"Are you ready?" Franklin asked. All eyes were on me as I hesitated, turning as much as I could to James.

"Are you _sure_ you want to know?" I said, giving his hand a slight squeeze. He squeezed back, smiling and nodding.

Franklin moved the ultrasound wand around a little, trying to get a clearer image on the screen. The professionals leaned in closer, scrambling to get a better look, as James and I held our breath.

"It's aaaaaaaa..."

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"Aw, c'mon!" Hamilton groaned as I grinned evilly, trailing off and extending the _a_ waaaaaaaaaaay more than it needed to be. "Just tell us what the sex of the baby is!"

I wrapped an arm around my bump, still smiling manically.

"Well, it's not a velociraptor," I replied, much to the confusion of the guests. I giggled, motioning to the white-iced cake on the buffet table (because everyone knows that it's not a proper party if there isn't a buffet). "The answer is in the cake. James, if you would do the honours?"

James emerged from the kitchen with a huge knife in his hands. It actually seemed to be weighing his arm down as he lugged it to the table. Lifting it with difficulty, he raised it to the cake and cut in delicately.

Pink candy poured out.

The room erupted in cheers and claps, with a few whistles mixed in. I beamed as James came over and wrapped an arm round my waist.

"Hey, how did you get pink MMs?" Herc called, popping one in his mouth.

"Oh, well, James here found a British company called Smarties that do pink ones," I said, kissing James on the top of the head. "Popped down to the British-themed pub on 5th Avenue and they had some in the back."

Herc nodded in approval and moved on.

"Hey, congratulations," Hamilton said, clapping me on the shoulder. "So, a girl, huh?"

"Yeah," I said somewhat awkwardly. "Gonna start painting the nursery next week, I think."

James and I exchanged a smirk as Hamilton too moved over to join his family. I watched them, but I couldn't help but dwell on the growing fear in the pit of my stomach.

A girl. Of course, she was perfectly healthy, Franklin had confirmed that, but the pressure was only mounting now. In just 20 weeks, I was going to have to learn how to do fancy hairstyles, pick out dresses, read up on my Disney princesses (although that wouldn't be too much of a challenge) and get ready to disapprove of any man she brings home. If she's even straight or bi. She may be transgender. Or a lesbian. That wouldn't be a problem. I mean, James and I are gay ourselves, so we could just be the LGBTQ household, but I hated the idea of my precious baby being discriminated against for her sexuality, her parents or the colour of her skin, because she was naturally going to be quite dark and some people are racist pricks who are stuck in the 1800s, apparently.

I decided not to think about it now and reached for the cake, but I got a sudden urge for cream cheese, banana and honey sandwiches. Slinking off, I slipped into the kitchen and hastily constructed my snack, wolfing it down as fast as I could.

"Thomas? Do you want some of this- oh."

Not fast enough.

Swallowing, I turned around to see James standing there, a plate of cake in his hand. I guiltily licked cream cheese off my lip and waved with my sandwich hand.

"Cravings?" James asked, putting the cake on the side and coming over to me. I nodded again, depositing the rest of the sandwich in my gob and chewing it happily. "Bananas, cream cheese and honey? Really?"

"The baby wants what the baby wants," I replied, my mouth still full. James chuckled and rolled his eyes, putting the cream cheese back in the fridge so it didn't spoil. "When did we get so domestic?" I wondered aloud as I swallowed.

"About 4-and-a-half months ago," James said instantly, a small smile forming on his lips.

"Marriage has changed us," I mused, one hand resting on the kitchen side as I wandered around the kitchen.

"Is your leg hurting?" James asked, shutting the kitchen door for privacy. I looked around desperately before answering.

"A little," I whispered. James gave me a sympathetic look, letting me lean against him to get the kitchen table. I took a seat on the colourful IKEA chairs that were named Yankovic or something and sighed heavily.

Man, I loved this baby, but why did everything have to be so complicated?

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 **Hope you enjoyed this! Sorry it took so long again** **, also that it's shorter than normal. Whatever, shouldn't be long till the next chapter, which is actually gonna be a decent length because I know exactly what needs to happen. Peace out, dudes!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Okay, just so everyone knows, this is gonna be an extra-long chapter to make up for the recent lack of updates. Please, enjoy.**

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 _Jefferson's p.o.v_

Work was just as boring as ever. With me being pregnant and everything, everyone had been tip-toeing around me, being as cautious as they could. I was carefully ignored in most meetings, my media presence was non-existent and I definitely wasn't being given as much paperwork as everyone else. Most of the day, I watched cat videos and played Google Feud until I fell asleep or James and I could go home. Whichever came first.

On that particular day, I was exactly 21 weeks pregnant. I was leant back in my chair, slowly turning round and round like a really shit carousel when James gently put his hand on my shoulder. I looked up at his smiling face and stopped spinning.

"C'mon," he said, pulling me up.

"What?" I asked, bewildered as he dragged me down to the parking lot, bustling me into the car.

Passenger's side.

"Hang on," I said faulteringly, smelling a rat. "Why aren't I driving?"

James turned to me, beaming as he started up the car.

"Well, I didn't want to tell you, but ever since we found out you were pregnant, I've been taking driving lessons."

He paused, taking a deep breath and looking at me with dancing eyes. "I passed my test yesterday and got my licence!"

"Babe!" I gushed, reaching over with difficulty and hugging him tight. "That's amazing! I'm so proud of you!"

"Let me show off!" he laughed, gently pushing me off of him and expertly reversing out of the parking space and pulling out of the lot onto the street.

"You're a better driver than me," I grumbled.

James laughed, glancing momentarily over to me.

"Where are we going?" I asked, now genuinely curious.

"Well, you know how you were going on the other day about how you wanted to start sorting the nursery?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, whilst you were asleep last night, I cleaned out your old room and put all the stuff in the now full loft. We're going to look at baby things."

I couldn't help but squeal, jumping up and down in my seat.

"Calm down, Tigger!" James chuckled, placing a hand on my thigh and then pointing out the windscreen. "See, we're here now."

I squealed again.

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"I can't believe our child is going to have to grow up in a world without Toys R Us," I mused as we strolled around the cot section of the store, our hands tightly intertwined. We'd actually run into another couple on the way here, a lesbian couple, one of whom was pregnant. Me and her chatted about how morning sickness sucks whilst James talked to the other one. Neither of them questioned how I was pregnant, which was nice.

"Really?" James said critically, arching a single eyebrow. "Not global warming, not the fact that we're on the verge of war, just that there's no Toys R Us?"

"Weeeeeellll..."

"I'm kidding!" he laughed, stopping at a particular crib. As soon as my eyes clapped on it, I knew that it was the one.

You know the movie Moana? Stupid question, you've watched it about 10 million times. Well, the crib was in the design of the ship, and when you pressed the mobile, it played _How Far I'll Go_ softly.

"James, we _have_ to get this one!" I exclaimed excitedly, tugging at his arm like an excited child. "Just... look at it!"

He took a quick look at the price tag- I'm not sure why, we were both pretty well off- before nodding proudly at me. I hugged him tightly, taking one last look at the crib before going to the desk and ordering it.

Along with the crib, we also purchased all the paint we needed for a light-blue nursery with a massively awesome rainbow on one wall, some paper pom-poms, some super-cute curtains with floral patterns on them, white cabinets, wicker baskets with light pink inners for said cabinets, a lamp and a babygrow that read _Daddy thinks he's in charge. He's so cute_.

"Oh, I'm so happy!" I said as we made our way back to work, glancing back at the flat-packs stuffed into the backseat. "We still need to get a pram, though."

"Already done," James cut in, holding up his phone. I took it from him, startled. "I found your list of approved pram brands and ordered the best one I could find. Premium brand, comes with a car seat as well."

"Babe..." I whispered, tears coming to my eyes. "That's the... that's the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me!"

"Hormones?" James asked.

"Yeah," I replied, choking up a little.

"Let's go back to work."

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Almost as soon as we got back, I felt a spiking pain go across my abdomen, travelling towards my back. I hissed in pain, almost instantly doubling over with a hand on my bump. James was by my side instantly as I screwed my eyes shut against the pain.

"Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit!" I heard him gasp.

"I think these are contractions," I said through gritted teeth as it wore off. The entire office appeared to have heard as they all jumped up, Hamilton moving towards us. I looked up at him and James desperately.

"WE HAVE PLANNED NOTHING!" James screamed, quickly going into meltdown mode. Burr came forward and took James into a corner to calm down, and Hamilton focused on me.

"How long was that contraction?" he asked calmly.

"I don't know, about 20, maybe 30 seconds?" I answered, feeling myself being to fluster.

"Hey, just stay calm," Alexander instructed. I nodded, taking deep breaths.

I sat down in a chair and everyone fussed around me, bringing me decaff coffee and whispering about what to do.

Around 12 minutes after the first contraction, another one struck. I curled a hand round my oddly stiff abdomen, groaning in pain. James came over to me, stroking my hair. It was oddly comforting and I leant into his touch.

"I've called Franklin," he whispered in my ear. I nodded, trying to stay as calm as I could for my baby girl. "He'll be here in about 5 minutes, babe."

"Thank you," I whispered as the contraction mercifully wore off. James gave me a sympathetic look.

"How're you feeling?" he asked gently.

"I'm scared," I admitted, giving him a weak smile. "I'm balls-out terrified."

He giggled a little, placing a hand on mine.

"Don't worry," he said. "It'll all be okay eventually."

"I still can't believe we're having a little girl!" I exclaimed.

"I know! I was honestly fully expecting a boy."

"I'm happy we got a girl, though. At least now I'll have someone to pass my hair expertise and deep knowledge of Disney princesses to."

"But to be fair, you would have done the Disney thing with a boy."

"Yeah, I would."

We laughed together, and as I watched James' smiling face, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he laughed helplessly, I was reminded, quite forcefully, why I had married this man.

"God, I love you," I murmured just as Franklin arrived. Washington was at his side and they were deep in conversation with each other. To be honest, they looked like two high school girls gossiping about who'd slept with who. Though that was kind of obvious, wasn't it? Whatever, I don't know if that made sense or not.

Franklin came over to me. Weirdly, he didn't look too bothered, strolling casually towards me. I couldn't help but glare at him a little.

"Thomas, how're you doing?" he asked, kneeling next to me.

"Well, I'm potentially in labour, but other than that, just peachy," I replied with as much sarcasm as I could muster. He raised an eyebrow and James gave me a light slap.

Franklin reached out and gently felt around my abdomen, his face the pure picture of concentration.

"I don't think you're in labour," he finally announced, leaning back. The entire office let out a sigh of relief, and James gave me a tight hug. "Have you ever heard of Braxton Hicks?"

"Course," James said right away. I looked up at him, confused. "It's in Friends."

"Yeah, not until Season 8! We're on-" I began angrily before realising what had happened. "You binge-watched _without_ me!?"

"We'll talk about this later," James said quickly, turning his gaze to Franklin. "So he's okay?"

"Yes, he's fine," Franklin replied as he hauled himself up. "Just go home, have a cup of tea or something. Relax."

With that, he left as suddenly as he had arrived.

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 **I suppose this is longer than normal... Whatever, hoped you enjoyed and there (hopefully) will be more before I go back to school in September. Doubt it, though. BUT I SHALL TRY! Peace out**


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